


Witch Hunt

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atTER/MAand was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onthe TER/MA collection profile.
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1
Collections: TER/MA





	Witch Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).

  
**Witch Hunt  
by Mona Ramsey**

  
"The question is a simple one, Agent Mulder." The committee chair looked directly at him. "Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist party?" 

* * *

It couldn't have been only six months ago that his life had been normal. It wasn't possible that his entire concept of reality had been shattered, so completely, from a single meeting with a beautiful young man in a movie theatre... 

He'd always been discreet, taking the most circuitous routes possible to get there, always keeping his face carefully shielded, circling the block around the theatre several times before he went in. Sometimes he parked his car so far away that he knew that it was only courtesy of his photographic memory that _he_ remembered where it was. But even with all of these precautions, and all of his guilt, he couldn't stop coming, couldn't stop feeding his obsession. 

The movies were perverse, of course, nothing that he'd share with his mother or even with his tough, ex-military father. He hadn't known such a thing existed before a fellow classmate in his senior year of high school had driven him to Alexandria—a different part of the city than he'd ever seen before, to the Stardust Theater. Once inside, he'd started his journey towards becoming a man—he'd seen his first nudie movie. 

Most of them were no more than peek-a-boo shows— shot at nudist conventions, imported from nude beaches in Europe, they were ten or fifteen minute shorts, often with no sound, of young (and sometimes not-so-young) women and men au naturel. From his first view of them, he hadn't been able to stop himself. He made it to the theatre at least twice a month; sometimes, as much as once a week. 

He couldn't help but hold himself above the other men in the theatre; often they were the trenchcoat-wearing 'dirty old men' of the streets, looking for a cheap thrill, or just a warm place to sleep. A couple of them were older-looking business type men, who kept their faces carefully trained only towards the flickering screen, lest they meet the face of someone from the office beside them. Only very occasionally was there a man even close to Mulder's own age, never were there any women. 

He couldn't say exactly what it was that kept drawing him back to the place; certainly he was a handsome man, and he need never spend his nights alone, except by choice. But none of the women that he knew touched him in any way - they were pleasant and cheery and, on occasion, even intelligent. But none of them were special in any way, and he didn't take any of them seriously. His mother was beginning to worry about him. Ever since his father had died, three years earlier and under very mysterious circumstances in their own home, she had been prodding him to find someone and settle down. He tried, but could make no more than a half-hearted effort at it. 

The only constants in his life were his work and the theatre. Until that one night... 

* * *

It seemed like a perfectly ordinary night. He'd spent his usual twenty minutes parking and doubling-back, to make sure that no one he knew spotted him. He slid into the seat in the back and unbuttoned his coat, as usual. But this was to be no usual night. 

After he'd been seated for about half-an-hour, a man brushed past him, on his way to a seat. This wasn't unusual, although the theatre wasn't particularly busy on this evening. What _was_ unusual was the fact that the man sat right beside him. 

Mulder's heart started to pound a little harder. He'd been approached before once or twice while here, but it was always in the back, in the public toilets that never seemed to have working lightbulbs. And those approaches he had managed to politely rebuff, without incident. Never had there been any sort of threat to his safety, never had he come close to anything that might end in a trip to the hospital, or, worse still, the police station. He desperately wanted to keep it that way. 

He could feel the man's eyes glance at him, and he shifted slightly away, keeping his hands carefully in front of him. He found, to his embarrassment, that he was sporting an erection—not unusual, in these circumstances, but he hadn't been before the man had sat down. He wanted desperately to convey, somehow—non-verbally, if possible— that it was caused by the movie he was watching, and nothing else. 

But he could smell aftershave—something strong, masculine, something that reminded him vaguely of his father. It was a spot of cleanliness in this dingy theatre—with its uncomfortable sticky spots and smell of guilt and depravity. He could see by the man's profile out of the corner of his eye that he was young, possibly as young as himself. It was difficult to tell anything in the flickering lights of the 'film' they watched. The man made no move, no sound, and Mulder was just beginning to breathe again when he felt it. 

A hand travelled over the velvet armrest and brushed against his own, held so tightly against his thigh that he was losing the feeling in it. He never touched himself in these places—he just came to watch, to burn up the sexual tension that wouldn't let him approach the women in his office, to pack it into these furtive nights in this theatre and then drive them the long way home, finally released on his couch in the dark. 

But that hand—warm, dry, soft skin—placed itself over his own and stayed there, waiting. Reason told him to rebuff it, to push it away, back over onto its owner's lap, far away from him, but he didn't. He did nothing, and his lack of movement was as much a sign of acceptance as if he'd screamed out at the top of his lungs. 

The next movements didn't surprise him at all; he watched, fascinated, as the hand moved up closer to the centre of his body's heat, brushing lightly against the crotch of his trousers, now straining against the pressure of his erection, painfully held in its confines. He knew that anything more than a gentle touch would lead to an embarrassing scene, but nothing more came. The stranger beside him felt him and then withdrew. It was as impersonal as a survey, a blind man seeking his way, and he was bereft at the loss of it. 

A wash of disappointment hit him when the stranger stood again, after a moment, and walked past him, out of the row, and, he thought, out of the theatre. But something told Mulder to look again, to see if perhaps he'd gone to someone else in the dark. And when he raised his head, he saw the figure of his silent partner, still at the end of the row of seats—waiting. 

Their eyes met across the impossible darkness, neither of them seeing and both seen, and Mulder stood. As soon as he did so, the stranger vanished up the aisle and out into the night. 

Mulder followed.

* * *

The cool blast of air that hit him when he exited the theatre nearly knocked him over—it was like being struck by clean water, after dirtying himself. He'd half-hoped that his 'friend' might have disappeared, but he looked around, finally seeing the familiar silhouette leaning against the brick wall of the place, still half in shadow. Mulder told himself for the thousandth time that this all was _not_ happening to him, but he felt himself propelled—as if his body was acting out against his very will—and walked over to him. 

_He could be anyone. He could be a rapist, a murderer - a cop. You don't know him. What are you doing? It didn't mean anything, it was just a touch—you're just lonely._ The words circled through his mind, butting against his fears and circling them, but he continued to move. 

The stranger's face tilted upwards when he stopped, barely two feet away. He was completely shadowed, now, and Mulder couldn't see him any better than he had inside the theatre. "I hoped you'd come," he said. 

Mulder was speechless, his mouth dry, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his coat. 

The stranger smiled at him. "Do you have somewhere to go?" 

_No!_ Mulder's mind screamed at him. _Just leave. Just get away from him, from his mouth..._

"Yes," he said, and turned, walking towards his car. He knew without even glancing back that the stranger was following him. 

* * *

His eyes were dark, heavily-lashed, unreadable, and he stared out the passenger-side window of the car, silently. They said nothing in the car—the other man was acting as though this sort of thing happened to him all the time. It probably did, Mulder thought to himself, and then realized that he wasn't acting particularly uncomfortable, either. He groaned, inwardly. The whole thing was ridiculous, impossible—just what the hell was he doing? Picking up a stranger in a movie theatre, taking him home, taking him upstairs, taking him to bed - 

It was _not_ going to happen. He told himself that over and over and over. But, he couldn't make the words come out loud to save his life. 

Finally, after fifteen uncomfortable minutes, Mulder said, "I don't really know any bars—" 

The smile glinted at him again. "That's okay. I didn't really think that you meant a bar, anyway." 

"Oh? And what did you think I meant?" 

"Your place, of course." 

_Of course. That's the direction I've been driving since we got in the car._

He nodded. 

"Or, if you'd like, I know a motel—" 

Mulder didn't let him finish his thought. "No. It's fine." He continued to direct the car towards home— _his_ home, that he was bringing this stranger to. After a moment, he said, "I don't even know your name." 

He could feel the heat of the smile that was directed his way as clearly as if those lips had been pressed to his skin. "Alex. Alex Krycek." 

He nodded. "Fox Mulder." 

"Fox? Wow, that's got to be real." 

Mulder winced. _Of course, I wasn't supposed to tell you my _real_ name._ "Nobody calls me Fox," he said. 

"Mulder?" 

He nodded. 

"I can live with that. You can call me Alex." 

"Alex."

Alex turned his head again, staring out the window. They drove the rest of the way in silence. 

* * *

"Nice place." 

"Thanks." The way that his guest was smiling at him made Mulder feel incredibly uncomfortable—and weak at the knees, at the same time. He'd been wrong—those eyes, which looked dark in the theatre and in the car on the way over, were actually green. He shrugged off his coat and loosened his tie. "Drink?" 

"Sure." Alex gestured at the couch. "May I?" 

"Please. Is scotch all right?" 

"Anything is fine." Those white teeth were grinning at him again, and Mulder had to turn away quickly. 

Once in the kitchen, the only thing that kept occurring to him was _what the hell are you doing?_ He was ready to throw himself on top of the other man, tear his clothes off, and - 

_And what?_

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the icebox. This entire thing was a huge, huge mistake—he was compromising his job, his family, his future—all for what? A quick fling with a stranger? With a _man_? _I can't do this._ He picked up the scotch and then put it down again. _I've just got to go out there and tell him to go. Focus, Mulder. You can do this._

His resolve steady, he walked through the kitchen door. What he saw when he stepped into the living room stopped him dead in his tracks. 

Alex had found the radio in the corner of the room, and turned it on, and the light off. Soft strains of a local band piped through, and he was swaying easily, unconscious of the fact that he was being watched. He'd shed his jacket, and the moonlight shining through the window threw a silvery light on his face. Mulder watched him for a few moments, rapt, before Alex's eyes opened and he asked, "No scotch?" 

He shook his head. 

"I don't think I needed it anyway," Alex smiled. "Alcohol goes straight to my head. I'd hate to embarrass myself." 

The music switched to a popular love song, and he closed his eyes again. "I love this song, don't you?" 

"I don't think I know it." 

Alex looked surprised. "It's been at the top of the charts for five weeks." 

Mulder shrugged. "I don't listen to music very much." 

"Ah. You must be one of those men who are married to their jobs, then." He looked around. "This _is_ your place?" 

"Uh—yeah. Why?" 

"It's just that—" he looked a little embarrassed. "Sometimes, married men have a place away where they—" he stopped himself. "But you're not married, are you?" 

Mulder shook his head. "No." 

Alex took a step closer to him. "I didn't think so. I can usually pick out the married ones." 

"You do this a lot?" 

Alex moved even closer. "No," he said, shaking his head. He stretched a hand out, brushing against the front of Mulder's shirt. "It's been a long time since I met anyone interesting. Even longer since I did anything about it. How about you?"

Mulder could feel his own blush rising. "I've never—" 

Alex looked faintly shocked. "Never? Then why did you ask me to come here?" 

"You're beautiful." The words escaped him before he knew it. If he'd been thinking, he never would have put it in those terms, but it was true—Alex was beautiful. 

Alex looked as though he'd been slapped. For a moment, Mulder thought that he'd gone too far, said too much, that Alex was going to flee. But he didn't. Instead, he asked, "May I kiss you?" 

Mulder nodded, mutely. 

His lips were soft—softer than Mulder had thought a man's mouth would be. Warmth seeped through those lips, and his were caressed, plundered, by a seeking tongue, wet velvet and satin combined. Alex kissed him deeply, sliding his arms around him until they were pressed tightly together. Mulder was surprised by the feel of Alex's erection brushing up against him. He'd thought that he was the only one feeling so overwhelmed by the situation. _But if that was the case, then Alex wouldn't be here, would he?_

The kiss ended, Alex was looking at him apprehensively. Something in that look—some recognition of fear, some question of what it would lead to—and Mulder knew exactly what he wanted, no matter what it might mean to his future. The future beyond the next few hours didn't matter to him at all. 

He took Alex's hand in his own and led him to the bedroom. 

* * *

He almost never used the bedroom when he was alone—he was almost never not alone. He preferred the company of his books and the couch, usually falling asleep to the latest gruesome murder mystery or science fiction book. He enjoyed sex but didn't understand women—didn't understand their attraction to him and therefore unconsciously rebuffed them as easily as he breathed, his own awkwardness and fierce intelligence often enough to drive any but the most persistent away. 

The few times that he'd brought someone here had been disasters—the sex had been good but it was different for them than it was for him, he knew. Always afterwards he'd drift into a sort of lethargic sadness, aware that he was expected to shield and protect and cuddle, when he wanted nothing more than to be protected himself. He'd know—he usually knew well before the act took place, but more deeply afterwards—that this was not the person for him, and then would come the difficult task of extricating himself from an 'affair', of breaking promises and hurting her. It was just easier to retreat into his own world and stay there alone. 

He knew without being told that it would be different with Alex—different on a deeper level than just male-female, but because he wasn't supposed to be the strong one in this situation. Alex knew that he didn't know anything of what they were doing. He was being led. 

It felt good. 

* * *

"Lie down." Lips brushed against his ear, warm breath whispering gently across the skin. 

Mulder lay down on the bed, still fully clothed, and Alex sat beside him, reaching gently up with his hands and brushing over the cloth of his shirt. He pulled away Mulder's tie, then undid a single button, and those warm hands were against his skin, caressing him, fluttering over his collarbone, down to where the undershirt prevented any further contact of skin on skin. 

More buttons were undone, and then Alex pulled the tails of his shirt out of his pants and slid his hands down a little, tugging at the hem of his undershirt, then drawing it up, rolling it until it would go no further, Mulder's hands still pressed flat against the bed as he watched Alex, rapt. The dark head bent down and kissed him on the stomach, and his entire body leapt up into that kiss. 

"Whoa," Alex whispered, grinning. "Easy." He leaned up and they kissed again. "We have all night," he whispered wetly into Mulder's ear, and he forced himself to relax, to let Alex do what he was doing, trying not to embarrass himself. 

But everything that Alex was doing to him—even the simple act of undressing him—was so deliciously erotic that he was having trouble remembering any of his promises to himself. He could feel the slide of his belt through the cloth of his pants, as Alex pulled it away, his hands moving down from their resting place on his stomach, just a little lower, hesitating against the fly of his trousers, pausing for an infinite second before opening them. 

"Lift up," he whispered, and Mulder realized that he was holding his breath. But he wasn't expected to speak, was he? Just to lift himself up, to follow his instructions, to help this man to undress him, so they could make love. He took a shaky breath and lifted himself up from the waist. 

The draught of air was cool against his bare legs, and he shivered. Alex reached down and pulled off his socks, leaving his lower half bare but for his boxer shorts. Fingers trailed lightly up his legs, brushing only for a second against his straining erection, then up further, teasing at his nipples that he only now realized were hard and aching, too. 

Alex reached for him, pulling him up, and he let his arms fall back, the shirt shrugging off as he did so. Then he raised his arms, without being told, and the undershirt was removed as well. He was let back down on the bed, feeling the coolness of the sheets as only a slight discomfort against his skin. 

He was startled to realize that Alex was still fully dressed, except for the jacket that he'd removed earlier. He felt his own nakedness as the hunger he could see in Alex's eyes—hunger that he'd never seen before in anyone, not so visceral, so immediate. It sparked a flame in him that was something more than desire. It was rapidly shifting into _need_. 

He moved up onto his elbows again, and reached for him, startled when Alex pushed him down on the bed and buried himself in his arms, kissing him deeply. He reached around, trying to figure out how to help Alex out of his clothes, the seemingly simple act fraught with mystery. Finally, Alex let him go and undressed himself, rapidly shedding clothes and throwing them in a heap on the floor. 

And then they were kissing again, side by side. It was enough, enough to almost push him over the edge, enough to devour the hot mouth of the man beside him—until it suddenly _wasn't_ , and he once again needed more than touch. He was raking his hands up and down Alex's back, digging his fingers in and then unclenching, moving downward, over the curve of Alex's ass, still encased in his own undershorts. He surprised himself by sliding his hands under the waistband and connecting with the skin itself, surprised more when Alex moaned into his mouth and shifted back against his hands. 

Basic biology insisted that they breathe or die, and Alex moved back, his mouth open and gasping, his head thrown back. "Oh, god, yes," he said, shifting against Mulder. "Please."

A question formed itself in Mulder's mind and died on his lips, as the certainty of what Alex was saying presented itself to him. "You want—" 

"Everything," Alex gasped. "I want everything. I want all of you. Please." 

Mulder rolled them over, till Alex was on his back and he was on top of him. He had to shift to the side to drag his underwear down, finally freeing his erection from its confines. He'd never seen another man's cock—never since he was in school and caught glimpses of the other boys in the shower after gym, and never this heavy and erect, never so fiercely alive and demanding. He dipped his head down and kissed it, feeling the life that was pulsing inside. 

Inside. The word shocked him—Alex wanted him inside. And, pushing past his own fear and touching on his desire was the knowledge that that was what he wanted too— to feel the power of this man inside him, filling him, extinguishing his need. 

He fumbled with his own shorts, pushing them down past his knees and then finally off. They lay naked together, breathing hard, and Alex reached for him again, intending to pull him over. 

"No," Mulder said, and Alex froze, the fear darkening his eyes. "I want you," he continued, low, brushing his hands through Alex's hair. "I need you." Alex didn't move, didn't even seem to be breathing. "Please." 

He shifted his legs, unable to verbalize his need again. If Alex refused him, he knew that he'd never be able to ask again. But he knew that Alex wouldn't refuse him. 

The head bent down over him once again, and he thought that Alex was going to tongue him to climax, but it only barely brushed his cock before moving farther down, suckling at his heavy sac, and then further down still. Hands nudged his legs apart and up, and he raised, to be rewarded with the warm mouth and seeking tongue against his ass. He gasped out when it invaded him the first time, and then pushed hard against it, inviting the possession. It felt so good—he'd never have imagined that something could possibly feel so good. 

Far too soon it wasn't enough again, and his moaning, shifting body conveyed that to Alex, as well. He reached over the side of the bed to where his clothes had fallen and grabbed something. Mulder saw the flash of a tube of some sort and grinned even as Alex looked slightly ashamed. 

"I didn't want you to think that I went there looking for this—" he said, but Mulder leaned up and caught his mouth. 

"I'm glad to see you're prepared," he said, quieting him. 

The lube was cool against his skin, much cooler than Alex's mouth had been, but it soon warmed under the touch of Alex's fingers and the heat of his own skin. The fingers lingered inside him, further preparing him, before they were replaced by the blunt head of Alex's cock. 

The first thrust was a shock—a gentle pressure that continued as he gave way, slowly, inch by inch burying itself inside him. It was excruciating and he fought stopping Alex, needing to do this, needing to feel him. He forced himself to calm, to relax, to breathe, and before he even thought it possible the burning was changing into something different, from a painful fire into a unbelievable feeling of power and strength. Alex had seemed huge to his eyes, larger still to his body, but he was capable, he _could_ take him. And he was even able to demand more. 

He thrust back, once they were completely joined, urging Alex to start moving. It felt—not good, exactly, but _right_ , to be so used by him. And then it happened. Alex moved, not only in and out, but shifting around slightly, as if seeking something in Mulder's body. He didn't completely understand what was happening until he felt it. 

His entire body was on fire—his mind exploded into a throbbing centre of pleasure, and he cried out. He opened his eyes to find Alex smiling down on him, preparing to thrust again on that exact spot. "Feel good?" he asked. 

Mulder couldn't do anything but nod, his teeth clamping down hard on his lower lip in an effort not to scream again. All he needed was for one of his neighbours to come pounding on his door _now_ \- 

But _god_ it was not easy! Alex seemed content to drive him completely insane, pushing and thrusting and hitting against that spot inside him over and over again, making his penis rise and fill even more, and there was nothing that he could do but try to hold on to the shreds of himself and enjoy the ride. 

He'd never before come without touching himself or being touched, and he was amazed when the hot white threads of his pulsing cock hit him on the stomach and chest - amazed both at the intensity of his climax and the fact that he'd managed to stay himself so long under the assault his body was enduring. Alex, too, gave up when he felt the clenching hot body around him wringing the come out of his cock and muffled his own response, shooting deep inside and then collapsing on top of Mulder. 

The only thing that Mulder could realize when his brain was able to process thought once again was that they were still connected—Alex was still inside him. That realization made him infinitely happy. 

* * *

"When can I see you again?" 

"I don't have an apartment on my own," Alex said. He reached for his shirt over the side of the bed and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket. "Want one?" 

"I never touch them." 

"Oh. Then I won't—" 

"It's okay, really." Mulder propped himself up on one elbow and watched Alex light the cigarette. "Where do you live, then?" 

"I've a room in a boarding house. It isn't the sort of place I'd bring anyone, even if there was any privacy." 

"You can come here." His mouth was working faster than his brain, again, and Mulder dropped his eyes. "I mean, if you wanted to," he said, wincing at his gaucheness. 

"I want to." Alex cupped his chin in one hand. "Believe me, I want nothing more." He crushed out the cigarette. "We don't have to decide this all at once." 

"No." Mulder pillowed his head on Alex's stomach. "I don't want to think at all." 

* * *

He wasn't terribly surprised when he awoke the next morning alone, with nothing but the soreness of his body to convince him that it wasn't a dream. They'd made the sorts of promises that lovers made to each other, impossible ones. _Lovers,_ Mulder thought. He cherished the soreness for as long as it lasted, sudden twinges arousing him from the ordinariness of his day, and he fell asleep that night with dreams of dark green eyes in his mind. 

* * *

It continued along as almost a routine—Mulder had been half-afraid that he'd never see Alex again after their first time, but he did, after a week. He called and they met at an out of the way coffeeshop. 

"I didn't know if you wanted to see me again," Alex said, his eyes shifted down to the table. "I wanted to call but I didn't even know if you'd talk to me." 

"I was hoping that you'd call," Mulder said, softly. Those green eyes looked up at him, showing him part of the range of delight that he knew they were capable of. 

"I—I didn't know," Alex said, again. 

Mulder glanced around—they were in a booth, and the shop was quiet, so he took a chance. He laid one hand over top of Alex's, startled to feel how warm it was, and damp. He was actually _afraid_. He felt strong, and in control, the way that he hadn't before when he was with this young man. 

"Let's get out of here," he said. "We can go back to my place." 

He was rewarded with another smile, and Alex nodded at him. He pulled his hand back reluctantly, and stood up, laying down a dollar for their untouched coffee. Alex followed him out and down the block to where he'd parked his car. 

"You always park so far away?" Alex asked, half-joking. 

"Only when it's important," Mulder said, watching as the green eyes glowed at him. 

* * *

After that, he came to expect the irregular calls. They'd meet two or three times a week, never risking a pattern or a more frequent 'date' for fear of being discovered. Alex told him that he worked for a shipping company, and although he didn't have as much to fear as Mulder did as far as his job was concerned, there was more than the possibility of being fired that they had at stake. They could lose their families, their apartments, their livelihoods, their good names—every time a sexual scandal popped up on one of the back pages of the newspaper, Mulder would pale noticeably, reading through the scant details, sure that he would be next, that the only thing to do was to give up Alex and renounce the life that they were making together. 

And then he would receive another call, and they would meet, Mulder confident in his resolve to end it cleanly, simply. But those beautiful green eyes would light up when they saw his, and those lips would curl in a smile that was for him alone, and all of his sureties would be gone again. He would lose all of his doubts and fears in a few hours in Alex's arms, and he would know that losing anything would be worth it—as long as he didn't have to lose the man that he loved. 

* * *

It went on the same way for weeks, a lingering security of happiness slowly ingratiating itself into Mulder's life for the first time in years. The security he'd lost when his sister had disappeared when he was a child, when his parents grew distant and distrustful of anything and everything, when nothing that he could do was good enough or right enough or just 'enough' enough, was suddenly back again, a thousand times stronger. Why he didn't see it coming, he would never know. 

Moonlight peeked through the corner of the bedroom window, where the curtain didn't quite reach. He'd been meaning to fix it for a while, but he couldn't seem to make himself think of anything but Alex when he was in this room. He shifted, sighing, thinking again that new curtains were a _must_. He thought that Alex was asleep, but a low voice proved him wrong. 

"We need to talk, Mulder." 

"Can't sleep either?" There was soft humour in his voice, but Alex's next words cut his smile in two. 

"I've been watching you," Alex said, quietly. He didn't move, but Mulder shifted to lean on an elbow, concerned. 

"What do you mean, 'watching me'?" 

"It's my job. I was—assigned to you." 

Mulder didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until it came out in a shaky rush. "Oh, my god—" 

"Please, listen to me, just for a minute. Then, if you want to throw me out, if you want to shoot me, you can." Alex's eyes were desperate, pleading. He reached a hand out to Mulder, and gripped one of his wrists. " _Please_." 

Unable to speak, Mulder simply nodded. 

"Most of what I told you about myself was true," Alex said. Mulder remembered quiet conversations after sex, when he spilled out the sketchy details of his own childhood and Alex entrusted him with what he thought was his life story. "My parents _were_ immigrants. What I didn't tell you, though, was that I didn't immigrate with them. 

"I lived in Moscow, with an aunt and uncle of mine, until I was eighteen. After that, I was recruited—" 

"Oh, my god. You're a Russian spy," Mulder said, cutting him off. He got up out of the bed, moving so quickly that Alex feared he'd hurt himself. "It's not bad enough that I've been sleeping with a man—" he said, almost hysterically. "Now I find out that the man that I've been sleeping with is a Russian spy!" He shook his head, incredulous. "Why did you do this? Why me?" 

"I told you—I was assigned to you. I was supposed to get close to you and—" Alex bit his words off. "But it's not like that anymore. They didn't care _how_ I got close to you, just as long as I collected my information. But I wanted you, from the first time that I saw you sitting in that god-awful theatre. And I have wanted you every night that we've been together, and that is the truth." 

"So why tell me all this now? Have you gotten everything that you need from me, is that it?" His voice had hardened, and he threw out the accusations. "Your job is over and you're leaving, aren't you?" 

"I haven't got anything," Alex said. "I couldn't take it, not feeling the way that I did. But yes, I am leaving." He laughed, bitterly. "I didn't pass them any information, so they think that I'm not doing my job well enough. They're sending me back to be 'disciplined.' But what happens to me isn't important. It's you that I'm worried about." 

"Me?" 

Alex nodded. "There are some compromising photographs that are about to land on the desk of your superior—Skinner's his name, isn't it?" Mulder nodded, mutely. "And he's also going to be informed who—and what - I am. You're going to be named, Mulder." 

Mulder's legs gave out completely, and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed. "The committee." 

"Yes, probably." Alex refused to look at him, but Mulder could see the sweep of dark lashes against his cheek. "You will never know how sorry I am that this happened. Ever since that first night in that god-damned theatre, I've been trying to think of some way out—some way that I could stop being who I am, and you could stop being who you are, and we could just be together. But if there's a way, I don't know what it is." 

His mouth so dry that he didn't know how the words came out at all, Mulder just said, "When?" 

"My flight's tomorrow afternoon." 

Mulder nodded, unable to speak. He stood up and sat down again, in rapid succession, his body movements edgy and nervous. "So that's the end of it, then? The end of my career, the end of you—" He shook his head. "I should have known. I should have realized." He punched the pillow hard, and Alex jumped. "Why didn't I realize?" 

"Realize what?" 

"That there was no way that any of this could possibly be real. It was too good." 

He stood and walked silently to the bathroom, closing the door. Alex stared painfully after him for long minutes, sitting up against the headboard of the bed, his arms wrapped around his knees. Finally, he lay his head down against them, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyes that refused to fall. It was too much his fault for him to let himself feel pity for anyone except the man who's life he'd single-handedly ruined. 

It took him a long time to realize that Mulder wasn't coming out, that he was probably waiting to hear the closing of the door, knowing that Alex had left and he'd never have to see him again. He brushed the tears out of his eyes and got up, pulling his clothing on mechanically, tying his tie, putting on his jacket. He'd nearly made it to the front door, his hand on the knob, when he heard movement behind him. 

"Take me with you." 

He whirled around. "What?" 

Mulder was standing in the doorway, naked—the sight of his body almost painful to Alex. "Take me with you. You said it yourself—I'm ruined. There's nothing left for me here. Even if I don't go to jail, I'm going to be thrown out of the Bureau, and I'm not going to be able to get work anywhere else in Washington—hell, I'm probably not going to be able to get work anywhere else in this _country_. I don't have any options left—but I don't have to lose you if you take me with you." 

Alex shook his head, bewildered. "Why would you want to be with me after what I've done to you?" 

"Because I'm in love with you." 

"No! I _lied_ to you! I've been lying to you from the start—" 

"I know." Mulder shook his head, a look of defeat on his face. "It doesn't matter. You think that I can just forget what's happened between us? You must— _feel_ something for me, to have told me this." He moved closer. "You've never told me what you feel for me." 

"I love you." Alex moved back further, feeling cornered, trapped. "But you can't come with me. I'm probably going to end up in jail myself. Russia is not a country for lovers, Mulder." 

"Then we'll go somewhere else. Mexico, South America. Anywhere you want to. I have some money—" 

"God, no, don't. You want to be a fugitive? You want to disappear and start over somewhere—never able to see your family or friends again? It isn't any sort of a life, Mulder, believe me—I _know_. You'd hate it, and then you'd hate me, only there wouldn't be anything left for you. I couldn't bear for you to grow bitter and angry because of me." 

"But you'd see me go to jail?" 

"It doesn't have to happen that way—go to your boss before anything happens. Cut a deal with him. Resign before they have a chance to crucify you. You can get yourself out of this. Please." Alex put his hand on the doorknob again. "I can't hurt you any more than I have already. Please, just forget me." 

He disappeared, and Mulder never saw him again. Only the ache lingered, to make him realize that it _had_ all been real, once upon a time. 

* * *

Mulder lived through the next few weeks in a daze, getting up and going to work and doing his job and going home again at night. He gave his mother excuses for not coming to dinner and went out very little, eating at home alone, not even considering a return to his old routine. He jumped every time the phone rang, sure that it would be the beginning of the end. 

Finally, he received the subpoena, 'inviting' him to appear in front of the committee. He was puzzled only that he hadn't yet been disciplined by the Bureau. Every time he'd been called into Skinner's office, he was _sure_ that he was going to be face with a handful of tawdry photographs and a demand for his resignation. But it hadn't yet come. 

_Maybe they're waiting for you to be called to appear,_ he thought to himself. _But why -?_

He couldn't figure it out, but he was almost relieved when he was called to appear before the House UnAmerican Activities Committee. Apparently, it was finally starting. 

* * *

The television cameras weren't there—he was a Bureau underling, assigned to minor cases, with no independent name of his own, so they didn't care about him. The newspapers, as always, _were_ there, flashbulbs bursting in his face. He scanned the crowd for any face that he knew, seeing none. He was alone. 

It started. He gave his name and his occupation. 

"The question is a simple one, Agent Mulder." The committee chair looked directly at him. "Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist party?" 

His mouth was just open to answer, when a dark-suited figure approached the chairman. He closed his mouth. 

The chairman was hustled off into a side office, and Mulder was left alone, feeling the stare of dozens of people on him, himself looking nowhere but straight ahead. Finally, after an interminable delay, the chairman re-entered the room, conferred with a few other members of the committee, and sat down. 

"It seems that in light of some new evidence, we will no longer be requiring your testimony, Agent Mulder. You may leave." 

Mulder was stunned—too stunned to realize what was happening until he was escorted out of his chair. He was met at the door of the chamber by a red-headed woman who took his arm and led him through a back corridor, away from where the press was clustered. 

"You've got to meet with Skinner," she said to him. "I was sent to bring you back." 

"Who are you?" 

"Dana Scully. I'm the AD's new assistant," she said, smiling at him. "We've got to get back." 

* * *

She ushered him into Skinner's office and closed the door. He sat down, still in a daze, at the desk. 

"I'm sure you're wondering what's going on, Agent Mulder," Skinner said brusquely. "I wish I could tell you that I'm aware, but I'm not." He paused, looking beyond Mulder to the back of the room. "However, I believe that this gentlemen is going to be able to explain it to both of us." 

Mulder turned around, aware for the first time of a third person in the room, sitting on Skinner's leather couch—dark suit, dark eyes, older man. He crushed out the cigarette in his right hand before he began to speak. 

"Agent Mulder," he said, with a cold smile and dead eyes that sent shivers down the spines of the other two men, "you were in quite a bind this morning, as I'm sure that you are aware. It was only through some rather delicate maneuvering on the part of myself and certain acquaintances of mine that we were able to ensure your extrication from this bind. We are quite certain that you will be willing to return this favour." 

Mulder found his voice for the first time in an hour. "In what way?" 

"We need nothing more but for you to do your job. We're simply interested in expanding just what your job entails." He picked up a file and slid it across the table in front of him, close to where Mulder was sitting. "Have you ever heard of UFOs?" 


End file.
